


A Song Without Melody

by ennui_ephemera



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Childhood Memories, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks, Riko and Tetsuji are mentioned, boys falling in love, it's very brief and vague, violence mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 12:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20389453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennui_ephemera/pseuds/ennui_ephemera
Summary: Jean's mother was the one who taught him to sing. Old French songs drifting from the radio, static voices filling the kitchen, the words filtering through Jean's head until he memorized them. His songs, the memories of his mother, were the only things he was allowed to bring with him when he was sent to the Nest. Evermore took everything away from Jean; his autonomy, his sense of stability, his voice. He was sure he would never sing again.Everything changed when Jean met a boy with a smile that reminded him a bit of the sun, a boy who made Jean want to sing again.





	A Song Without Melody

When Jean was young, his mother used to call him her little songbird. 

She was the one that taught him to sing, swaying around their little kitchen in France, warm afternoon light spilling across counters to fall on Jean perched on top of them. _Like a scoundrel,_ she would say with a hint of a smile, shooing him off the counters before his father came home. 

Her favorite songs to sing were old French songs; _Sous le ciel de Paris_ and _La rue de notre amour_, André Claveau and Jacqueline François. Pretty boys in Paris and streets of love, _Les amoureux dans les coins noirs_. Tinny voices drifting through static from the old radio propped up on the table.

They were Jean’s favorite memories of his mother, and the memories he clung to most desperately in Evermore until the golden lit afternoons and apple pie cooling by the open windowsill, breeze billowing curtains, and his mother’s lilting voice were just too far to grasp. 

Jean gave up singing then, in the Nest, where it was better to stay quiet and keep his head ducked low lest someone took notice of him. A songbird with no song, trapped in a nest of ravens. Jean wondered if his mother thought of him as much as he thought of her, if she missed him like he missed her. 

It was months before the thought of singing again ever truly crossed his mind. Being freed from the Nest and being safe from Riko hadn’t really hit Jean yet. Before, he never let himself think that he would ever be allowed to leave Evermore, let alone imagine a future that was more than surviving to the next day, the next practice, the next game. He felt as if walking through a dream, rose-colored skies, _Je vois la vie en rose._ It took several appointments with the team shrink, and then a couple more with his own therapist, before Jean began to look for his voice again. 

The first time it happened it took him by surprise.

He was sat at the table, textbooks and papers scattered over the space as he worked, when he began to hum, a low note that started in his throat. Some tuneless melody, a few notes in a flat chord progression. Nothing special if it weren’t for the fact that Jean hadn’t made any sound even remotely close enough to be considered music for – years. A decade. And here he was, _humming_ as he did his homework. 

That’s how it went for weeks after that; Jean humming as he walked to his classes, making up melodies in his head when he should have been focusing on the passage he had to read for his history class. Whenever he was alone, he hummed, not quite brave enough to try out the words of his mother’s songs. 

In December, on one chilly morning when Jean woke up feeling settled in his own skin for the first time in what seemed a lifetime, he wandered into the kitchen on socked feet to put on a pot of coffee for him and Jeremy to share when he woke up. Since it was a Sunday, Jean didn’t expect Jeremy to be up for another couple hours. 

He poured the coffee beans into the filter and snapped the lid to the machine shut, turning it to slow brew while he hummed a quiet tune. Somehow his thoughts turned to a pop song he heard from on the radio at practice and he began to pick up the melody. He didn’t hear Jeremy’s quiet footsteps on the hardwood floor and cursed himself for it when Jeremy rapped lightly on the doorway. 

“Good morning,” he said with his usual cheer. Jean jumped, startled at being snuck up on, and was hardly soothed by Jeremy’s apologetic smile. 

“You’re up early,” Jean mumbled. He felt his ears growing red so he turned around with two slow, measured breaths. There was nothing for him to pretend to do as he ignored Jeremy, no spilled coffee beans to clean up, no extra mugs to put away, so Jean accepted defeat and faced him. 

Jeremy smiled, his eyes crinkling the way they did when he was happy – which, Jean thought, was all the time. Avoiding looking at him was hard, when all eyes seemed drawn to him, Jean’s especially. He looked as rumpled as the crimson USC hoodie he slept in, the sleeves falling over his knuckles. He hadn’t even done anything with his hair, it stuck up at all angles, as stubborn as Jeremy was chipper. And yet Jean couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

“So are you,” Jeremy pointed out, brushing past Jean on the way to the over-sugary cereal he was so fond of. 

“I’m always up early,” Jean said, “It is a struggle to wake you up on time for practice on a normal day. Up before noon on Sunday is unheard of.”

“People change,” Jeremy said as he poured himself a bowl of cereal. 

Jean didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t keep looking at Jeremy’s smile or his dumb hair or his beautiful brown eyes. So he opted to staring at the floor, not able to convince himself to leave and not willing to respond with more than a shake of his head when Jeremy offered him a bowl of cereal. 

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!” Jeremy quipped, and something about it almost sounded musical. It was dumb, it was nonsensical, but Jean found himself wanting to sing again.

~

“I didn’t know you sang.” 

Jean cursed, hand jolting to his chest as he withdrew in on himself. He’d let himself grow too comfortable in this dorm and around Jeremy for his own good. Complacency like this, losing awareness enough for someone to sneak up on him, would have gotten him hurt in the Nest. There was no room for comfort, no time to let himself relax. 

“Sorry,” Jeremy grimaced. 

There were also no apologies. When sincere, they were weaknesses waiting to be exploited. Jeremy was not fit for the Nest. Jean wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing.

“I should put a bell on you,” Jean said once his heart had calmed its terrified beat. Jeremy smiled sheepishly. He was always smiling; smiling at practice when he worked with the Freshmen, smiling as he and Alvarez cracked jokes back and forth, smiling at Jean. Jean didn’t understand it. 

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out with the girls and I tonight,” Jeremy said. The girls Jean knew to be Laila and Alvarez. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“It’s fine.” Jean shrugged, but it really wasn’t. He would work on being more alert next time. 

Jeremy was still watching him, a thoughtful look on his face. He rubbed his bottom lip, a _tap-tap-tap_ with his thumb that drew Jean’s eyes to the movement. He averted his gaze. 

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Jeremy repeated, and Jean wanted nothing more than to disappear. 

“I don’t,” he said quietly. It was the first time he sang in years, more than just humming quietly so no one else could hear. His voice was scratchy due to rarely speaking above a mumble, his tone too flat one beat then too sharp the next. He couldn’t even remember all of the words to the song correctly. 

_Alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai…_

Plucking feathers. Head, beak, wings. Jean often thought of raven’s feathers, instead of a lark’s. Black feathers between his fingers, dark as oil and just as slick. He imagined plucking them, the delicate plumage destroyed in his grip, the broken shafts spiraling to the ground to rest at his feet. _Je te plumerai la tête, et la tête._

“You have a nice voice, Jean,” Jeremy said. And, god, his eyes, shining and earnest and so, so very warm. They were warmer than anything Jean had felt in the Nest, and Jean couldn’t stand it. “Like a songbird.”

And that – that was too much. Jean was not a songbird, not anymore, not ever again. The grief was unexpected, a hot flash in his stomach, sudden as a knife from the dark. Doors slamming shut, dark rooms and tears on his face, his mother’s voice soothing him with a song, quiet so his father wouldn’t hear, _Alouette, alouette._ Jean trying to keep up with her, his cheek stinging from the slap. _A-a-a-a-ah,_ broken by muffled sobs.

_My little songbird,_ she’d murmur, brushing the tears away with her thumbs. _You know you shouldn’t anger him. You have to be better next time._

Jeremy called after him when Jean shoved past and disappeared into the bedroom. Jean didn’t know if he slammed the door or not, but he was sitting with his legs to his chest, head bowed over his knees and back pressed against the wood, breathing too fast to properly get air into his lungs. Jean willed himself to forget ever trying to sing. 

A soft knock put a stutter in Jean’s gasps for air. Jeremy’s soft voice came from the other side of the door. “Jean?”

“Go away,” Jean rasped, clutching his face in his hands. He couldn’t breathe, he could barely think. He needed air, he needed space. “_Leave me alone._”

He heard nothing after that, so Jean assumed Jeremy had left, leaving Jean to the dark room. That was the thing about Jeremy, he always listened. 

It must have been hours before Jeremy returned, creeping into the bedroom and closing the door with a quiet click behind him. Jean had since relocated to his bed, his back turned to the room as he pretended to sleep. He listened to Jeremy’s footsteps pause in the middle of the room before the closet light turned on and Jeremy dressed for bed.

The light flicked off, and Jean squeezed his eyes shut. 

~

Jeremy kept his distance after that. He put food for Jean in the fridge but he left the dorm at night and didn’t return until morning, and only for a couple minutes to grab a clean shirt and shorts before heading to practice. He must have warned Laila and Alvarez, because Jean’s interactions with them never went farther than a simple hello or a pat on the back after a good scrimmage. 

It was lonely, Jean realized a week after scarcely seeing Jeremy around. He hadn’t realized how much he had grown used to Jeremy’s presence until it was gone. Jeremy was loud and he somehow filled in the empty spaces of a room all by himself. He was so _different_ than anyone Jean had encountered at Evermore, and Jean had grown to miss him. 

Jean didn’t realize he had been waiting for the sound of a key turning in the lock until he heard it. Shaking himself awake, Jean sat up in his chair and rolled the tightness out of his neck. The door opened, Jean looked, and Jeremy stopped in the hallway.

“Sorry,” he said, glancing away. “I’m just getting some clothes.”

Jeremy ducked into the bedroom and Jean followed after him. Jean watched as Jeremy rummaged through the closest. When he turned around with an armful of clothes, he nearly knocked into Jean’s chest. 

“Sorry,” he murmured again and tried to go around. Jean blocked him, a move reminiscent of practice that morning when he had stopped Jeremy from scoring on goal. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Jean said. 

“Do what?” Jeremy tried for a weak smile, but it flickered like a broken flame. 

“Avoid me.” Jean pursed his lips, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to stay out of your own dorm room because I’m in here.”

Jeremy sighed. His hair was a tangled mess and running his fingers through it didn’t seem to help. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said. He still wouldn’t meet Jean’s eyes. 

“You don’t,” Jean said. He realized it was true as he said it. Jeremy never made him uncomfortable. He gave Jean space when he needed it, he never slapped Jean’s shoulder too hard after practice, he kept his words gentle and patient. But he also knew when Jean was in the wrong headspace and needed to be brought back, he left leftovers in the fridge and always invited Jean to hang out with the rest of the Trojans. He smiled at Jean; he was kind to him. Jeremy was the most considerate person Jean knew and here he was avoiding his own room so he could give Jean the space he asked for. 

Jean didn’t want it anymore.

Jeremy raised his eyes to Jean’s. There was caution there, a certain guarded wall, but underneath it all, always, was concern. There were also the telltale signs of sleeplessness.

“Where have you been sleeping?” Jean asked. It just struck him that Jeremy had to be going _somewhere_ when he left the dorm. He looked worse for wear, not enough sleep and too much tossing and turning. Jean knew the look well, recognized it every time he looked in the mirror. 

“The girls’ room,” Jeremy conceded after a beat. 

“This is your room, too,” Jean said. Jeremy shrugged, looking at his feet. 

“I’m really sorry, Jean,” he said. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Jean sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Jeremy still stood, half across the room with his head bowed. “My mother used to sing to me,” Jean started quietly. Jeremy’s head shot up in surprise. Jean had never talked about his family before, not even when Jeremy had told him about his own parents and siblings. 

“I hardly remember anything about her, or either of my parents really.” Jean barely remembered France itself, just that it was better than Evermore. Anything would have been better than Evermore. “But I remember that she would sing. And I would sing with her.”

Jeremy didn’t say anything. He was looking at Jean with wide eyes, mouth slightly parted on an exhale. Maybe he thought if he breathed too loudly, moved too quickly, Jean would clam up and never speak about it again. Maybe he was right. 

“They were my fondest memories of France. I do not believe I had very many of those.” Jean stared at his hands clasped loosely in his lap, the pale scars crisscrossing over his knuckles. His fingers were crooked and jutted out at odd angles, never given the chance to heal right after being broken. 

Jeremy moved slowly toward the bed; footsteps quiet over the carpeted ground. He still looked startled, but the tension eased from the air as Jeremy lowered himself onto the bed next to Jean and listened to him talk. This Jeremy was different than the cheerful, smiling Jeremy that Jean had come to appreciate. But he was still Jeremy, and Jean was glad he was here nonetheless.

“I stopped singing when I came to America.” He remembered the plane ride, the fear and the sorrow. He remembered thinking, _Why would they do this to me? Why would they send me away?_ For the longest time, Jean had blamed himself. “I never expected to sing again.”

Jeremy’s mouth moved wordlessly. “I – ” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Jean cut him off. “You didn’t know.”

“Still.” Jeremy frowned. “I know that being at Edgar Allan wasn’t easy for you. If you ever need to talk about any of it…” Jeremy paused and looked up at Jean. The earnestness in his expression almost made Jean look away. “I’m here for you.”

Jean nodded, not knowing what to say now that he used up all his words. “Thank you,” he decided on. To change the subject, Jean asked, “Are you sleeping here tonight?”

“I can stay with Laila and Alvarez,” Jeremy replied. “They don’t mind.”

“Stay here,” Jean said, not eager for Jeremy to leave again. Like dawn breaking across the night sky, radiant rays pushing through like cracks in the darkness, a smile bloomed across Jeremy’s face. 

Jean attempted a tiny smile back. 

~

At first, Jean didn’t know what woke him. It wasn’t a nightmare; Jean usually woke from those gasping and panicked, disoriented from the dark and not knowing where he was. Sometimes he made so much noise it woke Jeremy, as heavy a sleeper as he was. More than a few nights were spent with the lamp on between them and Jeremy talking in a soft voice until Jean was able to fall back asleep. 

No, Jean didn’t wake from a nightmare. 

The bedroom door was closed but light seeped in from the hallway under the door, illuminating a tiny sliver of the carpet. The muffled sound of pots clanging from the kitchen caught Jean’s attention. That must have been what woke him up. 

Jean groped blindly for his phone and checked the time. Jeremy’s bed was empty, the sheets thrown to the side and the giant purple blanket Jeremy loved slipping carelessly to the floor. Jean couldn’t fathom what Jeremy could be doing up at two in the morning. 

Rubbing his eyes, Jean tossed back his covers and put on some socks. The clanking sound stopped and Jean heard the oven door open and close as he made his way out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. There, he found Jeremy with his back turned, furiously mixing something in a bowl. Even with his back turned, Jean could see the tension tying up his shoulders underneath his worn t-shirt.

“Jeremy?” Jean said, squinting in the bright kitchen lights. Jeremy jumped and the bowl dropped from his hands, spilling across the counter. It looked like chocolate batter. Jean had no doubts that it was Jeremy’s favorite brownie recipe he was making. 

“Shit,” Jeremy swore. Jean raised an eyebrow. 

He turned around and Jean noticed that he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was a tangled mess and Jean could see dark smudges behind the thin wire-rimmed glasses he only wore when he was at the dorm or when he was particularly tired, perched askew on his nose. Jeremy pushed them up with his knuckle and blinked owlishly at Jean. 

“Sorry,” Jeremy said, hurriedly smearing the spill even further with a paper towel. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What are you doing?” The kitchen was a disaster. Dishes were piled high in the sink, stacked haphazardly to the point Jean was surprised they didn’t topple over at the slightest pressure. Jeremy himself was also a mess. Flour clung to his hands and clothes, the same pajamas he wore to bed hours ago, and what looked like chocolate was smeared across his cheek. He tried to block Jean’s view, but Jean peered behind him to find more baked goods on a cooling rack. “Are those cookies?”

Jeremy’s shoulders slumped with defeat. “Yeah,” he admitted. “And there’s an apple pie in the oven.”

Jean stared at him. “We have midterms tomorrow,” he said dumbly. “What are you doing baking apple pie at two in the morning?”

“Well you see,” Jeremy began, eyes darting wildly as he struggled for an explanation. “I – ” Jeremy’s lip trembled and, to Jean’s alarm, his face crumbled. His voice was thick as he said, “I’m so freaking stressed, I can’t sleep, and this is what I do when I can’t sleep because I’m stressed!”

Jean crossed the room. His hands found Jeremy’s shoulders. He didn’t realize he was pulling Jeremy to his chest until he tucked Jeremy’s head against his shoulder with a steadying hand on the back of his head. Jeremy clutched Jean’s shirt with tight fists. He was shaking, from barely-withheld tears or from too much caffeine making him jittery, Jean didn’t know. 

“Is it just because of the tests?” Jean asked. 

Shaking his head, Jeremy said, “It’s…everything. The tests, the team. Our last game before winter break is coming up and we _need_ to do well. I have no idea what the winter season is going to look like, let alone semifinals and championships.” Jeremy made a soft sound, a cross between a sigh and a sob. “I should have _never_ reduced starting line. I’m ruining this team.”

Jean didn’t think Jeremy could ruin a single thing if he tried, but he didn’t say that. Instead he eased Jeremy far enough he could look him in the eyes and said, “I don’t think that. You’re an amazing captain.” Better than Riko, who ruled with fear and violence. Jeremy stood tall on the court with the Trojans behind him, following him willingly. “They trust you because the team has only gotten better under your leadership.” 

Jeremy tried to look at his feet but Jean tilted his head up with a finger under his chin. “They’ll hate me,” he said, his mouth twisted downwards.

“No. They won’t. And if they do, they don’t deserve to be on this team,” Jean said with conviction.

The anxiety eased from Jeremy’s eyes, and Jean found the familiar warmth in them. It was one of the first things he noticed about Jeremy when he picked Jean up from the airport after arriving in California. For the first time, unobstructed by an Exy helmet or Jean’s injuries making it difficult to see, Jean couldn’t help but notice it. How warm he was, how his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, how the gold shone through when the California sun hit them just right, reminding Jean a little of honey. 

He realized how close they were standing. Jeremy’s chest pressed against Jean’s in a half-hug, his hands still curled in Jean’s shirt. Jeremy tilted his chin up and moved closer until his nose brushed against Jean’s. He had to stand on his tip-toes. A curl of hair tickled Jean’s forehead and Jean’s hands held Jeremy’s shoulders tighter, closer. Jean bumped his forehead against Jeremy’s, a small nudge, not pushing away, but beckoning closer.

“Jean,” Jeremy breathed, his eyes flicking to Jean’s with honey-slow distraction. They flicked down to his mouth. Jean didn’t know if Jeremy had even realized.

Jean’s stomach jumped. “Come on,” he said, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. He pushed Jeremy back a step. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“But the pie,” Jeremy said, and the tension eased from the air. “The kitchen.”

Jean forced his hands to let go off Jeremy’s shoulders. “You go to sleep, I will get the pie out, and then we’ll take care of the mess tomorrow.”

Jeremy washed his face and Jean helped him into his bed, pulling the sheets and his purple blanket over him. He was always complaining about the cold, unused to it in the way Jean was, so Jean tucked the edges in so the blanket wouldn’t slide off. 

Jean made to leave, but a hand curled around his wrist, barely touching but enough to grab his attention. “Jean?” he heard Jeremy say. “Will you stay with me? Is that okay?”

It surprised him that Jeremy wanted him to stay. But Jean nodded and settled down to face him as Jeremy nestled down in his blankets. Only a couple inches away on the tiny dorm room bed, Jean was hyper-aware of how close he and Jeremy were. 

Jeremy’s eyes grew wide and anxious in the dark again, his breathing just a bit too fast. Jean held his gaze, then fixed the blanket tighter over him. He would have to get up again in half an hour to fetch the pie, but for now he was content to lay there.

“You should try to get some sleep,” he said. “You do not want to be tired for your exams.”

Jeremy nodded but his expression never changed. Sighing, Jean adjusted his position so he was more comfortable and began to hum. He heard a small gasp beside him when he started singing the words to an old lullaby he could no longer remember the name of. He sang quietly, his voice wavering and strained until he found the melody he was looking for. 

For first few minutes Jean sang, Jeremy watched him with uncertainty. It had been months since Jeremy caught Jean singing by himself in their dorm, and since then Jean had made sure that no one was around to hear if he ever dared mutter the words to a song. But Jean was confident in this, and he wanted Jeremy to hear him, to listen. 

Jean’s mother had never sung him this song, not to sleep, not when he was crying, not even when they were alone in the house, listening to the radio in the kitchen on lonely Sunday afternoons. This was a song Jean had all to himself. It was what he sang to himself when there was no one around to comfort him, when he was completely and utterly alone. They were the words he thought of most in Evermore, when Riko was done with him and he had to clean up his wounds by himself, new and old, invisible or not. He’d never shared it with anybody, never planned to, but now here he was, singing to Jeremy his lullaby. 

Jeremy barely lasted until the end of the song before his eyes began to droop. His face slackened and in minutes, Jean could hear the quiet sound of his snoring. Jean should have gotten up and left Jeremy there to sleep, but there was still twenty minutes before he was supposed to go, so he brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over Jeremy’s forehead, tucked it behind his ear, and decided to stay until the oven called him away.

~

They circled each other for weeks. Every time Jean saw Jeremy, he was reminded of how close they stood that night in their kitchen. When Jeremy stretched and his shirt slid up to reveal a sliver of his tanned, toned stomach, Jean thought about his hands circling Jeremy’s shoulders. When Jeremy shook his head after he took his helmet off, Jean couldn’t think of anything other than Jeremy’s hair brushing against his skin. 

It was distracting. Everything, class, practice, the Trojan’s last game before winter break, was impossible to concentrate on. They won and secured their place in winter season, but Jean took a bad fall against the Plexiglas when he was thinking of Jeremy’s triumphant smile the day before at practice instead of watching where he was checking his striker mark.

Winter break was worse, since Jeremy had invited Jean to stay with his family over the break. At least at USC, Jean could always duck into the bathroom or hide away at the library if Jeremy’s presence pricked at Jean’s subconscious too much. At his childhood home, however, he had no such luck. 

He knew he should have kept some distance between himself and Jeremy, but Jean didn’t want to stay away from him. Not even a little bit. He could have slept in the room that used to belong to Jeremy’s sister that was turned into a guest room after she moved out, but more often than not, Jean fell asleep on Jeremy’s floor. Jeremy always argued, he said Jeremy didn’t have to sleep on the hard floor, Jeremy could sleep there instead and Jean could take the bed, but eventually they devolved to talking and quiet laughter. They stayed up too late every night, attempting to keep their voices low so not to wake Jeremy’s family. Occasionally Jean would hum or sing while Jeremy watched him with that peculiar smile he seemed to reserve solely for Jean until either one of them passed out. 

It was too easy to be around Jeremy. Jean never felt pressured or uncomfortable; Jeremy simply let him exist. And if Jean began to open up to Jeremy about his past, his own family, and his nightmares, then Jeremy listened and held Jean’s hand when he began to tremble. Jeremy was comforting, he was warm, he looked at Jean like he was special. And Jean liked how Jeremy made him feel. 

Maybe it should have bothered him, the way Jeremy looked at him, but it didn’t. If anything, it made Jean bristle with energy, anticipation of what might happen next. Would Jean glance over at Jeremy to find his eyes on him? Would Jeremy look away or would he hold his gaze?

Jean started noticing more and more how much he looked at Jeremy, too. Alvarez had called him out on it when she and Laila roped Jean into going out with them and Jean had flushed such a deep shade of red Jeremy thought he had a sunburn and gave him sunscreen, despite it being January. But he couldn’t help it. More than once he caught his eyes drifting to the mole on Jeremy’s neck, nestled behind his jaw. Jean wanted to press his lips to it and kiss it. He wanted to run his hands through Jeremy’s hair and find out if it was really as soft as it looked. He wanted to trace his fingers over Jeremy’s lips and down his chest. 

It only got worse once Jeremy made the habit of falling asleep on Jean’s shoulder when they watched TV. Jean never had the heart to wake him, so he let Jeremy sleep until he began to stir on his own. Sometimes it took hours, sometimes Jeremy slept until the sun began to set. Sometimes Jean would turn off the TV and maneuver them so he could lay down with him and they’d spend the night on the couch underneath the blanket they shared. 

It wasn’t until late February when it started to change. 

Jean had already resigned himself to a life where he could only look, never quite touch without pulling away the very last minute. A life where Jeremy fell asleep on Jean and Jean had to quietly untangle their fingers when they woke instead of holding tighter like he wanted. 

Until Jeremy came to the dorm with a small smile on his face. 

“Jean Moreau,” he said, smile broadening. “Will you go on a date with me?”

The weather was nice enough for a picnic, so Jeremy packed a basket full of food and Jean grabbed the blankets and then Jeremy drove them to a grassy hill a little less than an hour away from LA. 

As they walked to the spot Jeremy picked out, Jean basked in the warmth of the sun. So many years of being locked underground and only being allowed to leave for a couple hours at a time had Jean cherishing the feeling of the sun’s heat on his skin. After months in California, Jean still wasn’t as tanned as Jeremy, but a smattering of freckles had begun to dot his arms, his shoulders, across the bridge of his nose. Freckles like pollen on a flower, constellations in the night sky.

Flowers swayed in the wind winding through the long strands of grass, the air warm despite it being February, and the sky stretched above them with fluffy white clouds dotting the expanse of blue. Jeremy helped Jean lay out the blanket and then they divvied out the food. They ate pre-made sandwiches and strawberries, per Jean’s request, and drank cider from fake campaign glasses that made Jean smile when the bubbles popped in his mouth and made his tongue tingle. It made him feel giddy and light, despite the lack of alcohol in the cider, like he had swallowed a mouthful of stars, an entire galaxy. 

When they finished eating, they stretched out on the blanket on their backs and Jean watched Jeremy point out the shapes in the clouds that looked like various animals. Jean didn’t have to feel afraid of Jeremy catching him looking, not when Jeremy caught his eye and grinned, his cheeks flushing a pretty pink. Jean didn’t want to look away, not when Jeremy smiled like that.

“That one,” Jeremy said, pointing. Jean followed the line of his hand, the way his fingers stretched elegantly to the sky and how his knuckles jutted out and accentuated the veins on the back of his hand. “That one looks like mistletoe.”

That startled a laugh out of Jean. His eyes jumped from Jeremy’s hand to the cloud above them. It looked like a regular cloud to him. He turned to Jeremy and quirked an eyebrow, not bothering to keep the smile off of his face. “Smooth,” he said. 

Jeremy shrugged, unashamed. “Can I kiss you?” he said instead. His eyes were dancing with light.

Jean’s breath hitched in his chest as he nodded. He had wanted to kiss Jeremy for months, but never entertained the thought of Jeremy kissing him back. Jean cupped Jeremy’s cheek, feeling the softness of his skin, smooth under Jean’s calloused hand, his pinky brushing the tiny mole he so desperately wanted to kiss and Jeremy closed the few inches between them. 

Jeremy kissed him, and the world ground to a halt. The only thing going through Jean’s mind were Jeremy’s lips on his, as warm as the rest of him, Jeremy’s fingers playing with his hair, twirling a strand around his thumb as he pressed closer, so gentle and mindful even when they were kissing. Jean turned on his side and rested his hand on Jeremy’s chest, his fingers curling in the collar of Jeremy’s shirt. He could feel Jeremy’s heart beat under his palm, the quickness matching Jean’s own pulse. 

When they separated, Jean had to take a moment to catch his breath. Jeremy pressed his forehead against Jean’s, his hands still cupping his face, and let out a breathless laugh. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” he said. 

Jean felt a smile creeping across his face. He opened his eyes and ran the pad of his thumb over Jeremy’s lips. “Me too,” he said. 

They smiled at each other and Jean wondered about the impossibility of it all. A year ago, he’d never have thought that he would be allowed to leave the Nest. Falling for someone, especially someone like Jeremy, had never even occurred to Jean as something that could happen. His future was short and bleak in the Nest, but with Jeremy, it seemed endless, like the sun’s rays stretching forever on the horizon. 

“I want to sing you a song,” Jean murmured. Looking away, Jean pushed himself up and sat cross-legged. He didn’t know why he was suddenly nervous, just that it was easier to stare at his hands as he plucked at the grass and twisted the stalks in his fingers. He felt a hand on his arm and soaked in Jeremy’s reassuring presence by his side. 

Taking a deep breath, he began to sing. 

He didn’t know what song he was going to sing until he was already singing it. It was in French. Jean hadn’t sung to Jeremy in French since he sang him his lullaby, so many weeks ago. It brought up too many hard memories Jean would prefer to leave buried. Shouting and loneliness, darkness enveloping him like a curtain, Jean didn’t want to think of them. Instead he had sang pop songs he heard on the car radio on the way to the stadium or songs he heard Laila singing on their impromptu karaoke nights. It was easier to avoid the songs that made up Jean’s childhood completely, but this was different. 

Jeremy was good. He made Jean feel warm again after spending so long in the cold and darkness of Evermore. Jeremy made Jean want to sing again. 

He started off slowly, rounding the words in his mouth until they almost sounded sweet. Jeremy’s eyes never left Jean’s face as he sang the words. _“Les parois de ma vie sont lisses, je m’y accroche mais je glisse, lentement vers ma destinée.”_

Jeremy didn’t understand French, but he listened intently, watching Jean sing the words with a crinkle between his brows. Jean still didn’t look directly at him, he kept his eyes on the plaid pattern of the blanket as the melody climbed higher and higher until it was snatched and whisked away by the wind. 

He sang the song solemnly. When his mother had sang it, she sang it with a sort of frenzy, matching the voice from the staticky radio. She often forgot Jean was listening completely, sat up on the counter with his chin resting on his knees, as she spun around the kitchen. Jean had always thought the words deserved a slower tempo, a quieter one. They left him with a sort of sadness. 

_Je ne vois pour moi qu’un refuge, toute issue m’étant condamnée._

Jean squeezed his eyes shut. Words like bullets to his chest. Feathers drifting to the floor. _“Mourir d’aimer.”_

Perhaps it wasn’t the right song to sing as it certainly wasn’t a song that came without any bad memories attached. Jean didn’t think of this song when he thought of Jeremy, he didn’t think of it when he thought of how Jeremy made him feel. Nonetheless, he sang. 

Jean had always thought the afternoons spent with his mother had been tainted. By his father and his quick temper, or by his years spent in Evermore with Riko and his blades sharpened specifically to render Jean’s flesh. But that wasn’t true. His memories were tainted, yes, but not because of anyone else, but because of Jean. He’d always painted his early memories better than they really had been. More yellows and golds than there had been, brushing over the blues and angry reds. 

The Nest and its darkness, all the pain it held for Jean, made it too easy to forget the way his mother always turned away from him when he reached for her, how her hands wiped his tears and told him to stop crying, she didn’t have time for this. In the face of Riko’s cruelty, Jean had forgotten that his mother had watched him board a plane to never come back without uttering a word. She said nothing to him when he begged her to let him stay, to protect him. _Les gens haineux face à eux-mêmes, avec leurs petites idées._

When Jeremy looked at him, Jean knew that he had been loved the wrong way. He knew when Jeremy held his hands when they shook and he knew when Jeremy stayed up for hours talking Jean down from a nightmare, he knew that his parents had never really loved him at all, if they had let him go so easily. His parents had sold him, given him away to rid of a debt that had nothing to do with Jean, yet what he was abandoned to pay by himself. It was a fact he denied so vehemently in the first few years of Evermore. There had to be some other explanation; Tetsuji was lying, Riko just liked seeing the look on Jean’s face when he repeated it. 

_“Tu es le printemps, moi l’automne, ton couer se prend, le ien se donne, et ma route est déjà tracée.”_ Jean sang the last few lines of the song, his voice fading away with the lyrics like the light leaving the sky above them. _“Mourir d’aimer. Mourir d’aimer. Mourir d’aimer.”_

It was quiet for a very long time. Jean felt unsteady, such a difference from when he had kissed Jeremy. He was left with the distinct feeling that he had done something wrong. 

But then he felt Jeremy’s hands on his face, tender as they held him. Jean opened his eyes when Jeremy’s thumbs swiped across his cheeks and came away wet, brushing away each tear as it came. Jean hadn’t realized he was crying. 

“It’s okay, Jean,” Jeremy said softly. “You can cry now, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Jean exhaled a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for ruining our date,” he said. 

“You didn’t.” Jeremy carded his fingers through Jean’s hair. “We’ll always have more dates, if that’s what you want.” 

Jean could have a future with Jeremy, and he wanted it so badly he ached. He wanted the way Jeremy made him feel, the way Jeremy’s face glowed with happiness when Jean smiled. He wished to make Jeremy feel the same way Jeremy made Jean feel. And he hoped to keep kissing him, and holding his hand, forever and ever and ever. 

Burying his face in Jeremy’s neck, Jean circled his arms around Jeremy’s waist and pulled him closer. Always closer. Jeremy rubbed soothing hands up and down Jean’s back and murmured reassurances in his ear, his cheek pressed against the side of Jean’s head. 

They didn’t move until the sun set and Jean could breath normally, until he felt steadied, rather preferring to stay in Jeremy’s arms because that was the only place in the world Jean wanted to be and not because he needed help holding himself up. 

Jeremy laced their fingers together and squeezed. “Let’s go home,” he said. “I’ll turn on the radio while we drive. Sing something for me?”

Jean smiled. He couldn’t imagine singing for anyone else the way he sang for Jeremy.

**Author's Note:**

> this got a lot longer than i meant it too sjdhjd
> 
> the songs i referenced:  
Sous les toits de Paris by Maurice Chevalier  
La Rue De Notre Amour by Chansons Françaises  
La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf  
Alouette  
Mourir d'aimer by Charles Aznavour
> 
> anyway jerejean is the light of my life and i'm so glad they're happy!
> 
> tumblr: [knox-knocks](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knox-knocks)  
twitter: [knox_knocks](https://twitter.com/knox_knocks)


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